Page 81 of Run of Ruin

Then came a knock at the door.

The tension in the room snapped taut again. Zaffir hastily scooped up his camera, flipping it back on while Ezra moved to open the door. I stood, and put my body between Bex and the door, just in case it was Devrin and I got my chance to kick his ass.

A Praxis guard stood waiting on the other side of the corridor, his posture rigid and weapon slung across his chest. His face was unreadable.

“Trial results have been determined,” he announced. “Briar Grey, first place. And Brexlyn Hollis, you’ve been disqualified for failure to exit the canals under your own power.”

The words hit like a slap. A sick, sharp silence followed, broken only by the shallow sound of Bex’s breath beside me.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ezra snapped, stepping forward before anyone could stop him.

“She almost died in there!” Thorne added, voice sharp and shaking.

“She should have won,” I cut in, the heat in my chest boiling over. “You’re telling me she gets nothing because I helped her swim for the last ten minutes?”

The guard’s hand drifted toward his holster. “Stand down,” he said, voice firm. His fingers fully wrapped around the butt of his weapon.

I heard someone curse under their breath behind me. My heart pounded in my throat.

Then Bex stepped forward, her voice barely above a whisper, but somehow it sliced through the rising panic like a blade.

“Stop.”

We all froze. She reached out and touched my arm, just lightly enough to ground me.

“It’s okay,” she said, looking only at me. Her lips trembled, but her eyes held steady.

“Hollis—” I started, but she shook her head.

“I’m alive,” she said quietly. “That’s enough.”

The air seemed to shift with her words. The tension held for one more fragile beat, then began to bleed out like a slow exhale. We all stood down. Our anger, still there, but less confrontational. Less reckless.

The guard’s hand slipped away from his weapon. He studied us for a moment longer before finally speaking again.

“This way.”

He turned sharply and started walking. We followed in reluctant silence, still raw with the injustice of it all but too drained to push back further.

He led us through a maze of sterile, winding halls that echoed with the weight of everything we weren’t saying. Eventually, we emerged at the front of the facility, where a row of black Praxis cars idled at the curb.

And then I saw him.

Devrin. Being escorted to his car. Alone. His face contorted into a mask of anger.

My feet moved before my brain could catch up. I gripped his shoulder and spun him around. My fist collided with his jaw, the crack of bone against bone sharp and satisfying. He dropped to a knee, clutching his face.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, and drove my knee into his nose.

Blood sprayed as he reeled back, coughing and spitting crimson onto the pavement.

“It’s a competition, you fucking psycho bitch,” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

I knelt, grabbing the front of his suit and yanking him in close, my face inches from his bloodied one.

“You almost killed her.”

“She gave me the wrong pieces,” he spat. “If anyone’s a murderer, it’s her. Vera is dead because she tricked me.”

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